Letra The Lay of Leithian - Canto IV par J. R. R. Tolkien

There long ago in Elder-days
ere voice was heard or trod were ways,
the haunt of silent shadows stood
in starlit dusk Nan Elmoth wood.
In Elder-days that long are gone
a light amid the shadows shone,
a voice was in the silence heard:
the sudden singing of a bird.
There Melian came, the Lady grey,
and dark and long her tresses lay
beneath her silver girdle-seat
and down unto her silver feet.
The nightingales with hеr she brought,
to whom their song hersеlf she taught,
who sweet upon her gleaming hands
had sung in the immortal lands.

Thence wayward wandering on a time
from Lórien she dared to climb
the everlasting mountain-wall
of Valinor, at whose feet fall
the surges of the Shadowy Sea.
Out away she went then free,
to gardens of Valar no more
returning, but on mortal shore,
a glimmer ere the dawn she strayed,
singing her spells from glade to glade.
A bird in dim Nan Elmoth wood
trilled, and to listen Thingol stood
amazed; then far away he heard
a voice more fair than fairest bird,
a voice as crystal clear of note
as thread of silver glass remote.
Of folk and kin no more he thought;
of errand that the Eldar brought
from Cuiviénen far away,
of lands beyond the Seas that lay
no more he recked, forgetting all,
drawn only by that distant call
till deep in dim Nan Elmoth wood
lost and beyond recall he stood.

And there he saw her, fair and fay:
Ar-Melian, the Lady grey,
as silent as the windless trees,
standing with mist about her knees,
and in her face remote the light
of Lórien glimmered in the night.
No word she spoke; but pace by pace,
a halting shadow, towards her face
forth walked the silver-mantled king,
tall Elu Thingol. In the ring
of waiting trees he took her hand.
One moment face to face they stand
alone, beneath the wheeling sky,
while starlit years on earth go by
and in Nan Elmoth wood the trees
grow dark and tall. The murmuring seas
rising and falling on the shore
and Ulmo's horn he heeds no more.
But long his people sought in vain
their lord, till Ulmo called again,
and then in grief they marched away,
leaving the woods. To havens grey
upon the western shore, the last
long shore of mortal lands, they passed,
and thence were borne beyond the Sea
in Aman, the Blessed Realm, to be
by evergreen Ezellohar
in Valinor, in Eldamar.

Thus Thingol sailed not on the seas
but dwelt amid the land of trees,
and Melian he loved, divine,
whose voice was potent as the wine
the Valar drink in golden halls
where flower blooms and fountain falls;
but when she sang it was a spell,
and no flower stirred nor fountain fell.
A king and queen thus lived they long,
and Doriath was filled with song,
and all the Elves that missed their way
and never found the western bay,
the gleaming walls of their long home
by the grey seas and the white foam,
who never trod the golden land
where the towers of the Valar stand,
all these were gathered in their realm
beneath the beech and oak and elm.
In later days, when Morgoth fled
from wrath and raised once more his head
and Iron Crown, his mighty seat
beneath the smoking mountain's feet
founded and fortified anew,
then slowly dread and darkness grew:
the Shadow of the North that all
the Folk of Earth would hold in thrall.

The lords of Men to knee he brings,
the kingdoms of the Exiled Kings
assails with ever-mounting war:
in their last havens by the shore
they dwell, or strongholds walled with fear
defend upon his borders drear,
till each one falls. Yet reign there still
in Doriath beyond his will
the Grey King and immortal Queen.
No evil in their realm is seen;
no power their might can yet surpass:
there still is laughter and green grass,
there leaves are lit by the white sun,
and many marvels are begun.

There went now in the Guarded Realm
beneath the beech, beneath the elm,
there lightfoot ran now on the green
the daughter of the king and queen:
of Arda's eldest children born
in beauty of their elven-morn
and only child ordained by birth
to walk in raiment of the Earth
from Those descended who began
before the world of Elf and Man.

Beyond the bounds of Arda far
still shone the Legions, star on star,
memorials of their labour long,
achievement of Vision and of Song;
and when beneath their ancient light
on Earth below was cloudless night,
music in Doriath awoke,
and there beneath the branching oak,
or seated on the beech-leaves brown,
Daeron the dark with ferny crown
played on his pipes with elvish art
unbearable by mortal heart.

No other player has there been,
no other lips or fingers seen
so skilled, 'tis said in elven-lore,
save Maglor son of Fëanor,
forgotten harper, singer doomed,
who young when Laurelin yet bloomed
to endless lamentation passed
and in the tombless sea was cast.
But Daeron in his heart's delight
yet lived and played by starlit night,
until one summer-eve befell,
as still the elven harpers tell.
Then merrily his piping trilled;
the grass was soft, the wind was stilled,
the twilight lingered faint and cool
in shadow-shapes upon the pool!
beneath the boughs of sleeping trees
standing silent. About their knees
a mist of hemlocks glimmered pale,
and ghostly moths on lace-wings frail
went to and fro. Beside the mere
quickening, rippling, rising clear
the piping called. Then forth she came,
as sheer and sudden as a flame
of peerless white the shadows cleaving,
her maiden-bower on white feet leaving;
and as when summer stars arise
radiant into darkened skies,
her living light on all was cast
in fleeting silver as she passed.
There now she stepped with elven pace,
bending and swaying in her grace,
as half-reluctant; then began
to dance, to dance: in mazes ran
bewildering, and a mist of white
was wreathed about her whirling flight.
Wind-ripples on the water flashed,
and trembling leaf and flower were plashed
with diamond-clews, as ever fleet
and fleeter went her winged feet.

Her long hair as a cloud was streaming
about her arms uplifted gleaming,
as slow above the trees the Moon
in glory of the plenilune
arose, and on the open glade
its light serene and clear was laid.
Then suddenly her feet were stilled,
and through the woven wood there thrilled,
half wordless, half in elven-tongue,
her voice upraised in blissful song
that once of nightingales she learned
and in her living joy had turned
to heart-enthralling loveliness,
unmarred, immortal, sorrowless.

Ir Ithil ammen Eruchín
menel-vîr síla díriel
si loth a galadh lasto dîn!
A Hîr Annûn Gilthoniel,
le linnon im Tinúviel!

O elven-fairest Lúthien
what wonder moved thy dances then?
That night what doom of Elvenesse
enchanted did thy voice possess?
Such marvel shall there no more be
on Earth or west beyond the Sea,
at dusk or dawn, by night or noon
or neath the mirror of the moon!
On Neldoreth was laid a spell;
the piping into silence fell,
for Daeron cast his flute away,
unheeded on the grass it lay,
in wonder bound as stone he stood
heart-broken in the listening wood.
And still she sang above the night,
as light returning into light
upsoaring from the world below
when suddenly there came a slow
dull tread of heavy feet on leaves,
and from the darkness on the eaves
of the bright glade a shape came out
with hands agrope, as if in doubt
or blind, and as it stumbling passed
under the moon a shadow cast
bended and darkling. Then from on high
as lark falls headlong from the sky
the song of Lúthien fell and ceased;
but Daeron from the spell released
awoke to fear, and cried in woe:
'Flee Lúthien, ah Lúthien go!
An evil walks the wood! Away!'
Then forth he fled in his dismay
ever calling her to follow him,
until far off his cry was dim
'Ah flee, ah flee now, Lúthien!'
But silent stood she in the glen
unmoved, who never fear had known,
as slender moonlit flower alone,
seeing that shape with shagged hair
and shadow long that halted there.
Then sudden she vanished like a dream
in dark oblivion, a gleam
in hurrying clouds, for she had leapt
among the hemlocks tall, and crept
under a mighty plant with leaves
all long and dark, whose stem in sheaves
upheld an hundred umbels fair;
and her white arms and shoulders bare
her raiment pale, and in her hair
the wild white roses glimmering there,
all lay like spattered moonlight hoar
in gleaming pools upon the floor.
Then stared he wild in dumbness bound
at silent trees, deserted ground;
he blindly groped across the glade
to the dark trees' encircling shade,
and, while she watched with veiled eyes,
touched her soft arm in sweet surprise.
Like startled moth from deathlike sleep
in sunless nook or bushes deep
she darted swift, and to and fro
with cunning that elvish dancers know
about the trunks of trees she twined
a path fantastic. Far behind
enchanted, wildered and forlorn
Beren came blundering, bruised and torn:
Esgalduin the elven-stream,
in which amid tree-shadows gleam
the stars, flowed strong before his feet.
Some secret way she found, and fleet
passed over and was seen no more,
and left him forsaken on the shore.
'Darkly the sundering flood rolls past!
To this my long way comes at last-
a hunger and a loneliness,
enchanted waters pitiless.'

A summer waned, an autumn glowed,
and Beren in the woods abode,
as wild and wary as a faun
that sudden wakes at rustling dawn,
and flits from shade to shade, and flees
the brightness of the sun, yet sees
all stealthy movements in the wood.
The murmurous warmth in weathers good,
the hum of many wings, the call
of many a bird, the pattering fall
of sudden rain upon the trees,
the windy tide in leafy seas,
the creaking of the boughs, he heard;
but not the song of sweetest bird
brought joy, or comfort to his heart,
a wanderer dumb who dwelt apart;
who sought unceasing and in vain
to hear and see those things again:
a song more fair than nightingale,
a wonder in the moonlight pale.

An autumn waned, a winter laid
the withered leaves in grove and glade;
the beeches bare were gaunt and grey,
and red their leaves beneath them lay.
From cavern pale the moist moon eyes
the white mists that from earth arise
to hide the morrow's sun and drip
all the grey day from each twig's tip
By dawn and dusk he seeks her still;
by noon and night in valleys chill,
nor hears a sound but the slow beat
on sodden leaves of his own feet.

The wind of winter winds his horn;
the misty veil is rent and torn.
The wind dies; the starry choirs
leap in the silent sky to fires,
whose light comes bitter-cold and sheer
through domes of frozen crystal clear.

A sparkle through the darkling trees,
a piercing glint of light he sees,
and there she dances all alone
upon a treeless knoll of stone!

Her mantle blue with jewels white
caught all the rays of frosted light.
She shone with cold and wintry flame,
as dancing down the hill she came,
and passed his watchful silent gaze,
a glimmer as of stars ablaze.
And snowdrops sprang beneath her feet,
and one bird, sudden, late and sweet,
shrilled as she wayward passed along.
A frozen brook to bubbling song
awoke and laughed; but Beren stood
still bound enchanted in the wood.
Her starlight faded and the night
closed o'er the snowdrops glimmering white.
Thereafter on a hillock green
he saw far off the elven-sheen
of shining limb and jewel bright
often and oft on moonlit night;
and Daeron's pipe awoke once more,
and soft she sang as once before.
Then nigh he stole beneath the trees,
and heartache mingled with hearts-ease.
A night there was when winter died;
then all alone she sang and cried
and danced until the dawn of spring,
and chanted some wild magic thing
that stirred him, till it sudden broke
the bonds that held him, and he woke
to madness sweet and brave despair.
He flung his arms to the night air,
and out he danced unheeding, fleet,
enchanted, with enchanted feet.
He sped towards the hillock green,
the lissom limbs, the dancing sheen;
he leapt upon the grassy hill
his arms with loveliness to fill:
his arms were empty, and she fled;
away, away her white feet sped.
But as she went he swiftly came
and called her with the tender name
of nightingales in elvish tongue
that all the woods now sudden rung:
'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!'
And clear his voice was as a bell;
its echoes wove, a binding spell:
'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!'
His voice such love and longing filled
one moment stood she, fear was stilled;
one moment only; like a flame
he leaped towards her as she stayed
and caught and kissed that elven maid.
As love there woke in sweet surprise
the starlight trembled in her eyes.

A! Lúthien! A! Lúthien!
more fair than any child of Men;
O! loveliest maid of Elvenesse,
what madness does thee now possess!
A! lissom limbs and shadowy hair
and chaplet of white snowdrops there;
O! starry diadem and white
pale hands beneath the pale moonlight!
She left his arms and slipped-away
just at the breaking of the day.